


One Armchair

by zjofierose



Series: YoI rarepair week [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Communication, Dom Otabek Altin, Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Established Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky, First Kiss, First Time, Light Angst, M/M, Otabek gets to tell them what to do, Pining Victor Nikiforov, Polyamory Negotiations, Praise Kink, Relationship Negotiation, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Voyeurism, Yuri Plisetsky Swears, an attempt at correct Russian diminutive usage, but i tried, hints of D/s, not sure if i succeeded
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22157311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjofierose/pseuds/zjofierose
Summary: Viktor's name appeared on Yuri's arm at the same moment as Otabek's, searing across his skin with the certainty of forever. It had never concerned him; Otabek was his romantic soulmate, and Viktor was his platonic soulmate. It's unusual, sure, but not unheard of, and honestly he's a kind of surprised there wasn't a little cartoon bowl of katsudon inking its way across right next to Viktor's Cyrillic script, because why not just go big?But, as it turns out, maybe Yuri's been mistaken about the nature of his bonds all along.Fuck.
Relationships: Otabek Altin/Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov/Yuri Plisetsky, Victor Nikiforov/Yuri Plisetsky
Series: YoI rarepair week [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594894
Comments: 15
Kudos: 77
Collections: YOI Rare Pair Week 2020





	One Armchair

**Author's Note:**

> Belated Day 1 entry for YOI Rarepair Week: prompt - Soulmates. Title is from my favorite "oblique reference to poly" song, Sleeping By The Fyris River, by Ane Brun. 
> 
> I want to point out that, while the first half of this fic is concerned with feelings and consent and negotiation of emotional boundaries and all that fun and important stuff, the second half is "and they solve it with their dicks," which is probably a less, um, healthy and realistic scenario. Just, you know. In case this is something that ever comes up for you, dear reader.
> 
> also, many thanks to @artparallax and @seventhstar for the once over <3 <3

**Yurio** :  _ piggy, i need your help _

**Yurio** :  _ you know i’m desperate or i would never ask _

**Yurio** :  _ fuck _

**Yurio** :  _ answer your goddamn phone, katsudon _

**Yurio** :  _ what the hell are you doing anyway, you’re not at the rink _

**Yurio** : _ neither is viktor _

**Yurio** :  _ you know what, never mind.  _

_ \--- _

“Yura,” Yuuri says when Yuri picks up the phone, “what’s going on? Are you okay?”

“No.” Yuri’s voice is sharp and stressed, and Yuuri can hear him exhale hard through his teeth. “I need to talk to you. Can we meet somewhere?”

“Do you want to just come over? Vitya’s here, you could talk to us both if you want.”

“No!” Yuri’s denial is swift, “no. Just… can we meet at that park? The one down the street from your place. Take Makka for a walk, don’t tell Vitya what you’re doing.”

“Why don’t you want me to tell him?” It’s not a refusal, and Yuri is grateful, but there’s a definite note of caution in Yuuri’s voice.

“I just...,” Yuri resists the urge to grind his teeth. “It’s personal, okay? Just. Please.”

“Okay,” Yuri doesn’t bother to hide his sigh of relief. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. I’ll meet you on that bench by the central fountain.”

“Thanks, Katsudon.”

\--

“What’s going on, Yura?”

Yuuri’s hat is pulled down over his ears, and his scarf is pulled up over his mouth, and his glasses are foggy with the heat from his face when Yuri flings himself onto the park bench next to him and buries his face in his hands. 

“I just… I need to talk to someone, and it can’t be Beka and it can’t be Vitya, and I don’t think Mila would get it, so…”

“Good to know where I stand in your list of confidants,” Yuuri says with a hint of asperity, and Yuri shoves him with an elbow.

“Don’t be like that, piggy. I don’t want to talk to you about this because you’re  _ involved _ , not because I don’t trust you.” He grimaces. “But I don’t have anyone else.”

“I’m involved?” Yuuri’s eyes go wide, questioning, and Yuri closes his own in response, gripping at the folds of his coat.  _ Just say it _ , he thinks,  _ just spit it out. _

“I’m in love with Viktor,” he says, and shudders as Yuuri wraps a reassuring arm around his shoulders.

“I know, Yurio,” Yuuri tells him, voice kind, “he’s your soulmate, just like he’s mine. Of course you love him.”

“No, Yuuri,  _ listen _ to me.” He can feel his friend stiffen beside him at the unusual use of his given name. “I’m  _ in love _ with Viktor.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says, faint surprise coloring his tone, but he doesn’t pull his arm away, and Yuri leans into it in pathetic gratitude.

“Yeah, fucking  _ ‘oh’ _ , piggy. What the hell am I gonna do?”

“Um,” Yuuri uses his free hand to shove his glasses up his nose. “Well, have you talked to Otabek?”

“No.” Yuri leans forward, props his elbows on his knees, and buries his face in his gloved hands.  _ Beka _ . Light of his fucking life and the only man, till now, that Yuri has ever loved. Or, in fucking retrospect, maybe not, but at least the only man that Yuri ever  _ knew _ he loved, and that has to count for something.

Yuuri rubs his back soothingly, and Yuri wishes absently for Hiroko-san. Yuuri reminds him intensely of her sometimes, and he can never decide if it’s comforting or infuriating.

“You need to tell him, Yurio,” Yuuri says slowly, “it’s not like you just fell for some random guy on the street. He’ll understand.” Yuuri pauses to push his glasses up his nose so that he can look at Yuri seriously. “Viktor is your soulmate, just like Beka is. It’s just… a different kind of bond than you thought you had.”

“What if he hates me.” It’s mumbled, but Yuuri must understand him anyway, because he leans down and rests his cheek against Yuri’s shoulder blades. 

“He won’t hate you, Yurio. And neither will Viktor. And neither will I.”

The sniff Yuri gives in response is mortifying, but he clings to the fact that he has seen pork cutlet bowl cry many,  _ many _ times. Yuuri’s not likely to mention this to anyone.

“I want to tell everyone together,” he says after a moment, wiping his nose absently on the back of his sleeve. “All four of us.”

“Are you sure?” Yuuri asks, “you don’t want to tell Beka first?”

Yuri sighs. “No, it feels unfair not to tell them together. It’s not right to tell Beka that I’m in love with Viktor if I haven’t even told Viktor yet, but it feels like cheating to tell Viktor that I’m in love with him if I haven’t told Beka.” He shakes his head. “Telling them both at once is shitty, but at least it’s equally shitty for both of them.”

“Okay,” Yuuri says, “I can text Viktor that we’re coming over now. Do you want to ask Otabek to meet us there?”

No, Yuri thinks, no, he most certainly  _ doesn’t _ . He wants to go hide under his and Beka’s bed for the next decade, and never think about the way he’s about to completely upend all their lives again.

“Okay,” he says instead, standing up from the bench and fishing in his pocket for his phone. He opens up the messages, selects the first, opens it. 

_ hey beka come meet me at vitya and yuuri’s. _

He can hear Yuuri getting to his feet beside him and whistling for Makkachin, who comes bounding over covered in snow. 

“Katsudon,” Yuri says, carefully looking at the  _ okay _ he’s received on his phone, “you’ll be there too, right?”

There’s a breath of silence, and Yuri looks over nervously to meet Yuuri’s luminous brown eyes. He’s beautiful in the winter sunlight, wiry from training and pink cheeked from the cold. Yuri’s still not used to how much he has to look down since he’s gotten tall, but Yuuri’s stupid face is still the same, no matter how many years pass. He’s grateful.

“Of course, Yurio,” Yuuri says, like it’s fucking easy, and hands Yuri Makkachin’s leash. He smiles like the sun’s coming out, and it’s the first time that Yuri thinks that he might get through this in one piece.

\--

He was sixteen when he got his names; lots of people are sixteen when they get their name. It’s a pretty common thing to make a party of it, taking a nap the day before and then getting up at midnight on your sixteenth birthday so that you can make sure you’re awake when your soulmate’s name appears. 

Yuri’s always thought that’s dumb. First of all, sure, maybe you get your name on your sixteenth birthday, but there’s no telling  _ when _ . Why wake up at midnight and then spend potentially the next twenty-three hours and fifty-nine minutes torturing yourself to see if it will appear, only to have it wait until the last minute? Or worse, not appear at all? You only get your name if your soulmate is also of age, so it’s equally possible that you won’t get a name at  _ all _ , that you’ll stay unmarked and unmated until your soulmate, whoever they are, also turns sixteen. 

Like Viktor, whose arms stayed lovely and bare until he was a month away from twenty, when a string of foreign characters bloomed like calligraphy across his bare skin. Like Otabek, who’s eighteen and still unmarked, his forearms dark with sun and empty of ink.

The point is, it can happen any time, not just on your sixteenth birthday, so Yuri gets dressed and goes to practice like it’s any other day, because  _ fuck _ making a big deal out of romantic bullshit like this. He gets enough of that watching Viktor and the pork cutlet bowl on a daily basis, and it’s disgusting - thank god Otabek lives here now, and can distract from the Katsudon-and-Viktor show.

Thus, inevitably, he’s at the rink when it happens, winding up for a jump when a searing pain splits itself across both his forearms and he loses his balance entirely, falling hard onto the ice. He barely even notices the impact, too busy howling and pressing his forearms to his thighs in an attempt to halt the burn. He hears shouts echoing all around, and when he looks up Viktor’s skidding to a stop next to him and dropping heedlessly to the cold surface below, eyes wild and hair flying. 

Otabek is only half a second behind, sliding gracefully up on Yuri’s other side, crouching on his blades and reaching down to take Yuri’s hand.

The touch of Otabek’s fingers to his skin eases the pain of his left arm, and Yuri sobs in relief. There’s a funny look on Otabek’s face as his eyes latch on to Yuri’s, questioning and hopeful and glowing like dampened embers in his handsome face. 

Yuri’s heart thuds in his chest as Otabek reaches out and carefully pulls up his own sleeve, exposing the perfect Cyrillic block type of Yuri’s own name that marches neatly down his skin. Something breaks loose in Yuri, and he laughs wetly as he lets Otabek pulls up the sleeve of his leopard print sweatshirt to reveal the matching Отабек. It’s more than he had dared to hope for, and he laughs again, happier than he can remember ever being as Otabek leans in to press their foreheads together, tangling his fingers with Yuri’s own.

And yet… Yuri pulls back slightly, still clinging to Otabek’s hand. His other arm still hurts, and that’s confusing. If his soulmark is on his left arm, why does his right arm still hurt? And why is Viktor still sprawled on the ice next to him, faintly green around the gills and breathing hard?

“Vitya?” Yuri asks, and he doesn’t like the way his voice cracks with worry, doesn’t like the way that Viktor bites his lip before reaching out carefully to touch the thin skin of Yuri’s wrist. 

The pain stops immediately, and Yuri feels a little hysterical as Viktor meets his eyes, then carefully rolls up his other sleeve. Sure enough, in careful, delicate script the name Виктор glides up his skin from wrist to elbow. 

“But,” Yuri starts, and feels Otabek’s fingers tighten on his own. This doesn’t make sense. He’s  _ seen _ Viktor’s soulmark, hell, he’s seen  _ Katsudon’s _ soulmark. They’re a match, just like his and Otabek’s.

“Oh,” says Yuuri quietly, settling at Yuri’s feet, his eyes wide with surprise. “A double mark! I’ve only seen one once before.” He must’ve had to put his skates on, Yuri thinks, because he wasn’t on the ice when Yuri fell. Or, no, he realizes, looking down, stupid Katsudon just wandered out here in his sock feet.

“A double mark?” Otabek asks quietly, and his voice is calm, but Yuri can feel the tension that runs through him where his body is pressed against Yuri’s own.

“Yes,” Yuuri answers him, face excited, and why the hell is Katsudon  _ excited _ , Yuri wonders. His soulmate has just turned up with someone else’s mark. “A friend of mine in school got one - a mark of her boyfriend on one arm, and the mark of her best friend on the other. A romantic soul bond and a platonic soul bond!”

“Yeah,” Yuri says, grasping at straws. He can feel his arms caught in Otabek and Viktor’s grips, and it’s the only explanation that makes sense, because Viktor is twice his age and taken, and Otabek is his dearest friend and sometimes more. “Yeah. A romantic bond, and a platonic bond. That must be what it is.”

“It’s sweet, really,” Yuuri is saying, and Yuri can hardly hear him, too busy letting Otabek and Viktor haul him up off the ice. “It means that you and Viktor are even more important to each other than any of us realized.”

“Oh,  _ goddammit _ ,” Yuri swears viciously, watching as Viktor helps Yuuri carefully to his own feet. Otabek’s arm is around his waist, but Viktor’s hand is still wrapped around his wrist, and Viktor turns to look at him, face guarded. 

“I’m stuck with you now for good, old man,” Yuri tells him, and Otabek and Yuuri laugh. Viktor does too, releasing his hold on Yuri’s wrist to reach out and ruffle his hair even as he bends to let piggy hop onto his back for a ride back to dry ground. 

“Guess so,” Viktor answers, and his tone is light, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

\---

Viktor’s in the shower when they get back, whistling cheerfully, and Yuri has to viciously suppress the thoughts of all of that pale skin going rosy under the steam, of Viktor’s long muscles, of his wet silver hair. 

Yuuri puts a mug of tea into his hands and Yuri takes it gratefully, scowling and stomping over to the table. He stares at it for a moment, then sets his mug down and rearranges the chairs. Usually they sit two to a side, him and Beka facing Katsuki and Viktor over the food and flowers, but this is different. What he’s about to do may realign how all of that works, and so he pulls a chair to each end - four equal adults facing each other, about to have a fucking talk about their fucking feelings.

Katsudon watches him do it, but says nothing, simply wraps the large tea pot in a towel to keep it warm and brings it to the table, scooting the placemats and coasters to suit the new chair arrangement and letting Yuri grab Beka and Vitya’s favorite cups to put out. 

The shower switches off just before there’s a knock at the door, and Yuuri disappears to presumably tell Viktor to put some clothes on and come out to the dining room while Yuri lets Otabek in.

“Hey,” Beka says, his eyes warm and smile small, and Yuri latches on to him like the world is ending. He wraps his arms around Otabek’s broad shoulders and ducks his head down to press their cheeks together. Beka chuckles in surprise, but returns the hug, letting Yuri cling for a long moment until he feels like he can pull away without crying. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Yuri lies through his teeth, stepping aside to let Otabek kick off his shoes and hang up his coat. He skulks over to one of the chairs at the end of the table, turning away so he doesn’t have to watch the look of mild surprise that crosses Otabek’s face. 

“Yuuri changed it up,” Otabek comments, settling down into the chair at Yuri’s right hand and reaching for the tea pot. Yuri just hums in acknowledgement, certain that if he opens his mouth he’ll throw up.

“Beka,” Viktor greets, entering the room. He’s still rubbing at his hair with a towel, and his sweatpants are slung low on his hips, exposing the soft, vulnerable skin of his lower belly. The scent of his cologne wafts gently through the room, and Yuri wants to scream. He’s making the right decision, he thinks faintly, because if he has to pretend not to feel these things for one more day, he will lose his fucking mind. 

“Vitya,” Otabek answers, and this right here, this is what Yuri is most concerned about. Otabek and Viktor are friends; they respect each other, they get along. But it’s always been under the assumption that Yuri belongs to Otabek first and Viktor second, that Viktor has his own beloved, and that the soulmark Yuri and Viktor bear is a recognition of a nearly familial bond. What is this conversation going to do to all of this? To their easy dinners, their joint vacations? To the way Otabek smiles at him like he’s the only person in the world? To the gentle sweetness that Yuuri and Viktor have with each other? 

Yuri clutches at the wooden arms of his chair as Viktor and Yuuri settle into their seats, Yuuri pouring tea for all of them, his smile carefully bland. What if Beka never forgives him? What if Vitya doesn’t want him?

“Yura?” Katsudon reaches out and sets a hand on his arm, careful to keep any concern out of his tone, but a lifeline nonetheless. Otabek is looking stoically concerned, and Viktor… he’s got his perfect media face on, cheerful and utterly unreadable. 

_ Like a bandaid _ , Yuri thinks, and closes his eyes.

“I’m in love with Vitya.”

The silence stretches around him, and Yuri lets himself float in it, lets himself listen to the traffic in the street, the gulls wheeling in the sky. 

A warm hand settles over his own, and he opens his eyes to see Beka’s dear face watching him, wreathed in concern and confusion.

“What?” Beka asks, and Viktor turns to Yuuri. 

“You knew,” he says, but it’s more a statement than an accusation, and Yuuri just shrugs. 

“I’ve suspected for a long time.” He gives a sad smile. “But I didn’t want to push. He only told me this morning, because he was worried about talking to the two of you.”

Yuri flushes, and Otabek looks upset. Viktor… Viktor looks something like resigned, which doesn’t make any sense at all. 

“I thought it was a platonic bond,” Otabek says to Yuri, but again it’s Yuuri who answers.

“That was my suggestion, when it happened,” he says, and fuck, Katsudon is blaming himself for this, of course he is. “It seemed like a logical explanation, given their history, but I just assumed. I didn’t ask.”

“I thought it was too,” Yuri says, because damned if he’s going to let piggy fall on his sword to keep everyone from being angry at him. “It’s not like I ever disagreed. It’s what made sense at the time.”

“Viktor?” Otabek says, and there’s something chilly in his tone that has all of Yuri’s alarm bells going off. “You also thought it was a platonic bond.”

Viktor laughs, the sound light and bitter, and looks away, dragging a hand through his damp hair. Yuri’s heart aches to look at him. 

“No,” he says, and Yuri feels the world shift beneath his feet. “I never thought it was platonic.”

“What,” Yuri bites out, and feels both Otabek and Yuuri’s grips on him tighten reassuringly. “You  _ what _ ? You  _ knew _ ? What did you… why the fuck didn’t you  _ say _ anything?”

“You were sixteen and I was twenty-eight,” Viktor says, and shrugs, “I thought something was wrong with me. I already had a romantic bond with Yuuri, and I was happy with him. I  _ am _ happy with him,” he says, and reaches out to take Yuuri’s hand. He sighs, and finally meets Yuri’s eyes, his gaze that cold, clear blue that Yuri’s seen watching him since childhood. “I thought maybe since my first bond was romantic, my brain just didn’t know any other way to classify what I was feeling. I figured my feelings would fade, or change. And you were so happy with Otabek.”

“So you let me figure this out on my  _ own _ ?” Yuri embraces the anger, lets it wash over him. It’s easier than feeling lost, easier than hurting for the way Viktor is looking at him, distant and aching. “You let me think I was  _ crazy _ ? That I was betraying Otabek by developing feelings for you?”

“I didn’t  _ let _ you,” Viktor bites out, “I didn’t  _ know _ . I thought it was just me, and I didn’t want to hurt you” His eyes are so, so blue, and Yuri can feel a tear slip down his cheek. Viktor gestures broadly at the table. “I didn’t want to hurt  _ any _ of you.”

“Vitenka,” Yuuri breathes, and Yuri stands up, kicking his chair back, unheeding that it falls to the floor, and then he’s climbing into Viktor’s lap, wrapping his arms around Viktor’s head and drawing it to his shoulder as Viktor’s arms wrap around him like a vice. 

“I’m sorry,” Viktor whispers into Yuri’s shirt, “I thought I was doing the right thing in keeping it from you.”

_ Four years, _ Yuri thinks,  _ four _ fucking  _ years _ . He’s been aware he’s in love with Viktor for less than nine months, and has been going crazy with it. How has Viktor managed this long? How much must he have hurt? Yuri presses a kiss to the top of Viktor’s head and feels Viktor shudder against him.

“ _ Vitka _ ,” he whispers, and Viktor gives a silent sob. “Vitka, I love you.” 

Yuri buries his face in Viktor’s hair again, closing his eyes and letting himself breathe. He’s much too big to sit on Viktor’s lap like he’s a child, but he doesn’t care. So what if they’re the same size now, he’ll always feel small and in awe of Viktor, and given the grip Viktor’s got on him, he’s not sure he’s allowed to move anyway. 

Still. He lifts his head. 

“Bekyusha,” he asks, voice quiet. “Do you hate me?”

Otabek’s response is immediate and unwavering. “I don’t hate you,” he says, and his eyes flicker from Yuri to Viktor, who still has his face hidden in Yuri’s shirt. “I don’t hate either of you.”

“But?” Yuri asks, and Otabek sighs and looks away. 

“But it’s a lot to take in,” he admits. “I thought…” he breaks off, and Yuri squirms on Viktor’s lap, wanting to go to Otabek, but Viktor’s grasp is firm. Yuri reaches out an arm instead, and Otabek takes his hand, clutching at him.

“You thought Yuri was yours alone,” Yuuri finishes for him, and Otabek shakes his head.

“Not alone, not really. Viktor’s mark appeared at the same time mine did. I’ve always known what that meant.” He looks away. “Or at least I thought I did.”

“Beka,” Yuri whispers, and Viktor whines at Yuri’s tense distress, prompting Yuuri to scoot closer so that he can reach out and stroke Viktor’s hands where they’re locked around Yuri’s back. “Bekyusha, I’m sorry.”

“I wish you’d told me,” Otabek says, and his face is drawn and sad. “I’m not angry with you, Yurochka, but I wish you’d told me.”

“Are there any other things we need to get off our chests?” Yuuri asks mildly, sipping his tea, and Yuri glares at him. “What? Now seemed like the time for it.”

“You’re taking this very well,” Yuri tells him, still glaring. “Why?”

“Oh, Yura,” Yuuri smiles at him. “I’ve always known you were special to Viktor. Even before your mark, it was clear to me that you two had a bond that was unique, and that was apart from me entirely. I came into my relationship with Viktor knowing that you were always going to be a part of him; your soulmarks only confirmed that.”

“That was true of me, too,” Otabek says, and leaves unspoken the  _ but I’m not as okay with this as you are _ .

“Yes,” Yuuri agrees, “but I know Viktor so well, and I could tell he was never happy with the second mark, with his relationship, regardless of what he said about it.” Yuuri shrugs. “I’ve had time to think about it, to know this was coming, and to know that nothing will change what I am to Viktor or what we have together.”

At this, Viktor gives another soundless sob into Yuri’s shirt, and frees a hand to clutch at Yuuri’s fingers. 

“Soulmarks are forever,” Yuuri says softly, and Yuri watches as he reaches across the table to offer his hand to Otabek. “Nothing can ever touch what you and Yura share. It’s fated. Your souls are bound to each other.”

“But,” Otabek says, and Yuuri nods. 

“But also, none of us can change the nature of what Vitya and Yura share. Not even them.” He frowns. “Actually, if this has been a romantic bond from the start, how have you both managed not to consummate it for this long? I’ve never heard of romantic mates being able to wait longer than a month.” 

It’s a very good question, and one that shakes Yuri to his core. Here he’d been thinking that he was just infatuated, that he’d gone and fallen in love long after he’d fallen in lust with his platonic soulmate, but if it’s been a romantic bond from the start… “Well,  _ shit _ ,” he says, and Otabek’s eyes widen in agreement.

“We both have strong bonds with other partners,” Viktor mumbles, “and correct me if I’m wrong, but we both have a lot of sex.”

Silence echoes around the table, and Yuri can feel his cheeks flame. He and Beka are young, and healthy, and fit, and competitive, and soulmates - why wouldn’t they have a lot of sex? And as anyone who’s spent more than a few days around Vitya and Katsudon knows, they tend to defile every surface available, with frequency and flair. 

“Right,” Viktor says, and sighs. “I did look it up at one point. I still thought it was just me, but I wanted it not to be all in my head, so I did some research just in case. Double bonds are rare, so no one’s sure, but the theory is that if there’s a healthy outlet for the consummation need, and the relationship is otherwise healthy…”

“Still,” Yuuri says, and Yuri can feel Viktor’s grip around him tighten. “You’re on borrowed time.”

“Yes,” Viktor agrees simply, and Yuri bites his lip at the sudden reality of it. Now he’s not just fantasizing about Viktor in the shower, Viktor in bed, Viktor naked and touching him. Now he’s here, on Viktor’s lap, with Viktor’s strong thighs shifting below him and Viktor’s hard arms around him, and everything is real and immediate in a way that makes all the blood in his head rush south.

He must make a noise, because Viktor twitches, and Otabek grimaces in obvious discomfort. 

“Beka,” Yuuri says, and his voice is kind. “What will make this easiest for you?”

“We don’t have to,” Viktor starts, and Yuuri shushes him.

“It’s been four years. Can you let go of Yura and let him off your lap?”

Yuri can feel Viktor pause, can feel the tension in his arms as he releases his grip. He gets as far as setting his hands on Yuri’s hips to begin to push him away before Yuri whimpers and clutches at him, and Viktor’s arms come back around him, hard and wonderful.

“That’s what I thought,” Yuuri says gently. “You’re too close already, both of you. You’ve been denying it too long, and your bond won’t let you anymore.” He sighs. “Beka, I’m sorry, but you and I have to be realistic about this - I know you love Yura, and you don’t want him to hurt. Prolonging this will only make them both suffer.”

Otabek makes a noise of affirmation, but he can’t seem to look Yuri in the eye, and it hurts, so much. 

“Would you rather stay, or go?” Yuuri asks. “No one will judge you if you don’t want to stay.”

“ _ Bekyusha _ ,” Yuri whispers, and Otabek turns to face him, eyes dark and hard. “Please don’t leave me.”

Otabek’s face crumples and he rises from his chair, crossing to stand next to Yuri and Viktor, burying his hand in Yuri’s hair and kissing him hard and deep. Yuri wraps his free arm around Beka’s waist and clings, tasting the salt in their mouths as they kiss. 

“I won’t,” Otabek says finally, resting his forehead against Yuri’s, eyes closed and breathing hard. “I will never leave you, Yura.”

“What if it were you who called the shots?” Yuuri wonders aloud, and  _ oh _ , Yuri thinks,  _ that could be good _ . “Would that make you feel more in control of what happens?”

“You mean for them,” Otabek states, considering, and Yuuri nods. “Yura?”

Yuri nods vigorously, his heart leaping at the idea of both of his mates there with him together, at not having to give over from one to the other. “Yes,” he says, making no effort to mask the desperation in his tone. “ _ Please _ , Beka.”

“Vitya?” Otabek’s tone is cautious, curious, impartial, but Viktor’s response is anything but. 

“Yes,” he whispers, “please, Bekasha.”

Otabek tenses at the endearment, and Yuri holds his breath as Yuuri chuckles. 

“Vitenka likes instruction,” Yuuri says, his voice deeply fond, and Otabek brushes a hand into Yuri’s hair and meets his eyes. 

“Alright, Vitka,” he says, holding Yuri’s gaze, and Yuri exhales hard. “I can do that.”

There’s a long moment of quiet, and Yuri can feel his heart racing. It feels like they’re all about to jump off a cliff, and the only thing that’s keeping him from running from the room in terror is the feeling that maybe, improbably, they’re all still in this together, that the firmness of Otabek’s hand in his hair, the grip of Viktor’s arms around his waist, and the press of Yuuri’s knuckles to his back  _ mean _ something.

“Vitka,” Otabek’s voice is steely, the voice he uses when he tells Yuri what new jump he’s planning to learn next. “Kiss him.”

Otabek lets his hand slide from Yuri’s hair down to grasp at the base of his neck, spreading wide across the curve of his shoulders, anchoring and protecting as one. Yuri feels like he’s floating as Viktor brings the hand that’s not tangled with Katsudon’s up to cup Yuri’s face. It’s the tenderest gesture Viktor’s ever made to him, and Yuri pushes his cheek impatiently into Viktor’s palm as Viktor runs a thumb over the curve of his cheek. His eyes are huge, locked onto Yuri’s own and searching, a pleading combination of fearful and hopeful that has Yuri pressing an unthinking kiss to his thumb. 

“Vitka,” Otabek says, and Viktor nods, drawing Yuri’s mouth down to meet his own. Yuri watches as if in slow motion as Viktor’s silver eyelashes flutter closed, and then his own eyes shut in bliss as their lips meet for the first time. 

It’s both exactly like and nothing at all like his and Beka’s first kiss - Yuri feels the same tug behind his solar plexus, the same deep-seated rightness that solidifies as the kiss goes on, that he is where he needs to be, and nothing can be more important than this. But where Otabek’s mouth is hard and warm, his kisses determined and firm and sweet, Viktor is all enticement, all passionate delicacy with how he uses his fingers to tip Yuri’s chin to just the right angle, the way he plunders Yuri’s mouth like he’s been thinking of how he wants to do this each day of the last four years.

Otabek and Yuri have been, up to this point, each other’s singular sexual partners, and Yuri has never had any complaints. But Viktor was hardly chaste before Yuuri came along, and he and Katsudon have been together for almost a decade now, and it’s very,  _ very _ clear that Viktor knows what the hell he’s doing. 

Yuri  _ wants _ , aches with it, wriggles until he’s free enough to swing a leg over Viktor’s lap and straddle him. It brings his rapidly hardening dick in firm contact with Viktor’s thighs, and he moans into Viktor’s mouth as large, warm hands settle on his hips and pull him close. He feels like he’s drowning, the heat of Viktor pressed against his front, the smell of his shampoo and cologne filling his nose, the softness of Viktor’s hair under his hands and mouth against his own, and it’s all overwhelming. 

He doesn’t realize he’s being lifted at first, but then he’s being pulled away, and he whines instinctively, reaching back for Viktor, who’s rising stiffly from his chair, obvious erection tenting his pants, because  _ god forbid _ Viktor Nikiforov wear underwear beneath his sweats.

“Yura,” comes the voice at his ear, and the note of hurt in Otabek’s voice refocuses him. He turns in Otabek’s arms, and really, he’s at least four inches taller than Beka now, it is ridiculous that he’s carrying Yuri down the hall like a child, but Yuri can’t bring himself to care. 

“Beka,” he sighs, pressing his face to Otabek’s shoulder, “I love you so much.” 

He can hear Yuuri leading Viktor behind him, can hear Viktor murmuring in his heavily accented Japanese, his voice sweet and reassuring as it rises and falls, Katsudon’s responses tender and brief. 

“Love you too, Yura,” Otabek tells him, pushing open the door to Viktor and Yuuri’s room with his toe, and crossing to the large, pristine bed. He sets Yuri down and leans over him, kissing him soundly as Yuuri and Viktor enter the room. They kiss again and again, and Yuri is losing himself in it, hazy in the moment and wrapped around Otabek, but he can feel something tugging at his heart. 

“Ota-kun,” Yuuri says from somewhere nearby, and Otabek pulls back reluctantly. “Will you come sit with me?”

Yuri bites the inside of his cheek as Otabek lets go of him and steps away, conflict written in his face. Yuri can see where Katsudon has pulled up the oversized armchair that usually lives in the corner of the room and dragged it to nearly within touching distance of the bed. Yuuri presses Otabek into it and settles in next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and hooking his legs up over Otabek’s lap.

“Is this okay?” Yuuri asks, and Otabek nods, shifting so that Yuuri’s weight is resting on his thighs. 

“You want to watch?” Otabek asks, and Yuri has to suppress a frission of jealousy at the ease with which stupid Katsudon fits against his Beka. It’s ridiculous, and deeply hypocritical, considering, but he reaches out his hand anyway, wanting the reassurance of the only person to ever have seen him like this.

“Yes,” Yuuri tells him as Otabek stretches out and captures Yuri’s hand, his fingers warm and strong. “And I’d like it if you’d hold me while we do. Is that okay?”

Yuri closes his eyes. He can feel the weight of Viktor’s gaze upon him from where he stands reservedly at the end of the bed. It feels fake, that he’s here, in Yuuri and Viktor’s bed, that he and Viktor are about to consummate a romantic-sexual soulbond that they’ve apparently been suppressing for the last four years, that their beloved soulmates are going to watch, and in Otabek’s case, direct them through this.

He shivers, and feels Viktor’s hand close on an ankle. 

It’s strange how much he wants Viktor’s touch. He’s always wanted things from Viktor; his interest, his advice, his approval. It wasn’t really a surprise when it turned out that Viktor was also his soulmate, other than the rareness of being a double; Viktor and Yuri have always been pulled to each other; Yuri pushing and Viktor pulling, Viktor leaving and Yuri following, Viktor challenging and Yuri achieving. 

He’s not sure when Viktor went from being Viktor Nikiforov, the legend, the most decorated skater of their generation who also happened to train with Yuri’s coach, to his own Vitya, the one with the expensive taste and ridiculous smile and beautiful hands. But he did, and he has, and now he’s here and staring down at Yuri like he can’t decide if he wants to kiss him or cry.

Otabek makes the decision for them.

“Vitka,” he says, his voice deep and firm. “He doesn’t like to be left alone. Go up and kiss him.”

Viktor blinks, like maybe he’d forgotten what they were doing here, but he nods and climbs onto the bed, crawling forward on hands and knees until he’s bracketing Yuri’s body at the shoulders and hips, his silver hair falling in his face and covering one of his blue, blue eyes. 

“ _ Are you okay, Yura? _ ” he asks, and it takes Yuri a second to recognize that Viktor has spoken in Russian.  _ “Are you sure this is what you want? It’s okay to change your mind.” _

Yuri blinks up at him in surprise, at the wary expression on his face, the ache of old pain in his eyes. How had Yuri missed this, all this time? What kind of soulmate was he, that he never even noticed how much one of his mates was hurting?

The injustice of it makes him angry, and his hand as he reaches up isn’t gentle like Viktor probably deserves. He has Katsudon for gentleness, Yuri decides, and drags his fingers hard into Viktor’s hair. “Don’t second guess me, old man,” he growls in English, “I’m not a child. I know what I want, and I want  _ you _ .”

He yanks, and Viktor falls to the bed on top of him, their bodies pressed together from shin to shoulder, mouths a breath apart. He can feel the pounding of Viktor’s heart through the thin fabric of his shirt, can feel the deep heat of his body, still overly warm from the shower, and everything that is in Yuri feels like it rises to meet him, emotion and passion surging from within his bones to crash itself against Viktor’s person.

“Kiss him, Vitka. Tell him you love him.” Otabek’s voice is dark, and Yuri shivers. He can hear Yuuri whispering something to Otabek, but he can’t tear his eyes from Viktor’s face. 

Viktor’s eyes close, then open again, and it’s like something inside of him finally gives way, and then he’s covering Yuri’s face with kisses, pressing his mouth to Yuri’s skin over and over, murmuring frantic  _ I love you’ _ s and garbled endearments in Russian every time he comes up for breath. It’s overwhelming and it’s scary and it’s  _ perfect _ , because it’s  _ Viktor _ , and Yuri has his hands up under the back of Viktor’s shirt, and the touch of all that muscle and smooth skin is doing things that make him feel like a blushing virgin again. 

Yuri shudders hard, nearly dislodging Viktor from where he lies on top of Yuri, feeling out of his depth as he fights to drag Viktor’s shirt up even as Viktor is clutching his hands around Yuri’s head and attempting to extract his soul via deep, drugging kisses.

“Yurochka,” Otabek’s voice is a lifeline, gentle and firm, “what do you need?”

“Clothes,” Yuri gasps out, “need skin.”

“Vitka,” Viktor freezes at the sound of Otabek’s tone, but Yuri can feel the minute tremble running through his arms. “You heard him. Take your clothes off, then take his.”

Viktor groans at the thought of pulling away, but obeys, pressing one last biting kiss to the curve of Yuri’s throat and pressing himself up in one fluid motion so that he’s standing barefoot on the end of the bed, towering over Yuri as he strips his shirt off and tosses it carelessly away.

It’s all Yuri can do not to choke on his tongue at the sight of Viktor bare-chested and flushed and staring directly at him with hunger in his gaze. He’s like a pin-up, still ridiculously fit and pale like marble, his hair in an appealing disarray, and Yuri feels like he’s been caught staring in the showers and should look away, but he can’t, he  _ can’t _ . 

Viktor rips off his sweatpants and drops them on the floor without breaking eye contact and Yuri can feel himself flush all the way down his chest. He leans up on his elbows unconsciously to get a better look, and fuck, he knew Viktor was hung, but seeing him nearly full on and nearly fully erect is an experience. Yuri wants to suck Viktor’s dick, he wants to bite Viktor’s thighs, he wants to bury his face in Victor’s belly and rub himself off between Viktor’s knees, he wants-

Viktor drops to his knees at the foot of the bed and reaches up to hook his hands in the waistband of Yuri’s track pants.

“ _ Still okay? _ ” he asks, and Yuri sits up fully, leaning forward to kiss him hard and furious. 

“ _ Yes, Vitka, it’s  _ okay _ , now get a fucking  _ move _ on. _ ” 

It’s the first time during this whole mess that Viktor has smiled, let alone laughed, and Yuri’s heart breaks all over again as Viktor’s face cracks into happiness. 

Yuri lifts himself on his hands as Viktor pulls his pants down and off, dropping them without further thought to press a reverent kiss to the arch of Yuri’s foot, then his ankle, sliding his big hands around the delicate bones of Yuri’s shins and gliding them north. 

The wet spot blooming in Yuri’s leopard-print briefs would be embarrassing if Yuri had any energy at all left to care, but all he can focus on is the heat of Viktor’s touch on his skin and inexorable way that it’s crawling up his body. 

He groans and falls back on the bed, turning his head to the side, searching for Otabek’s familiar reassurance. He finds it, finds Otabek with one hand gripping the arm of the chair, the other one wrapped tight around Katsudon, who is pressing a hand unsubtly to his own crotch as he moves against Otabek’s lap. 

“Beka,” he whispers, and Otabek looks at him, eyes huge and dark, mouth tight. It’s a lot, Yuri thinks, and then Viktor yanks the band of his underwear down without ceremony and sinks his mouth down on Yuri’s cock and Yuri shouts with it. 

Viktor gives head like he does everything: with impeccable form and an unmatchable grace. He pushes Yuri’s knees up and apart, and Yuri is thrashing on the bed, clutching at the sheets as Viktor takes him down again and again, his mouth hot and insistent and unlike anything Yuri’s ever experienced. 

“You’re doing so good, Vitenka,” Yuuri murmurs from the chair, and it makes Viktor groan around Yuri’s dick. Yuri’s orgasm is on him before he can even think, ripping through him like a tidal wave and curling him up tight around Viktor’s head in his lap, shuddering as the aftershocks tear through him and bring tears to his eyes.

“Vitka,” Yuri groans, forcing himself to release his stranglehold on Viktor’s face and stroke his hands through his head, “ _ Vitka _ .”

Viktor wraps his arms around Yuri’s hips and buries his face into the curve of Yuri’s hip, breathing hard. His skin is hot against Yuri’s own, his arms like a brand, and his mouth feels like it should be leaving singe marks where it’s pressing sweet kisses to Yuri’s thigh.

Yuri focuses on his breathing, settling his racing heart as he pets mindlessly through Viktor’s hair. He’s not thinking, not feeling, just floating, letting himself drift on the waves of comfort and pleasure still rolling through him at the connection he feels with his mates. 

“Viktor,” Otabek’s voice this time is gentle, and Yuri blinks his eyes open, not sure when he’d closed them. “You shouldn’t be holding back.”

Yuri’s gaze sharpens, and he takes in the tension still strung all down Viktor’s back, the way that he’s keeping his knees pressed tight to his stomach. 

“Ota-kun’s right,” Yuuri adds, and Yuri turns to see him curled into Beka’s side, arms wrapped around Otabek’s torso while his head rests on Otabek’s shoulder. “You can let go.”

Viktor shudders, and Yuri stares down at him, feeling the anger rise in him again. He gets a hand under Viktor’s chin and pulls his head up, forcing Viktor to meet his eyes. 

“Vitka,” he hisses, “what are you doing?”

“ _ I don’t want to fuck this up, _ ” Viktor pleads with him, “ _ I don’t want to break us. _ ”

Yuri sighs, runs a thumb under one of Viktor’s beautiful eyes. He can see the fine lines that collect at the edge of it, can see the downturn in the corner of his mouth. How many people, he wonders, ever see this side of Viktor Nikiforov? Ever see him as more than a living legend, more than the consummate performer, the generational artist? Who, beyond those in this room, knows Viktor as endlessly self-sacrificing, as willing to hurt himself to avoid hurting those he loves?

“ _ Vitka _ ,” Yuri leans forward and kisses him softly, then bites at his lip hard, making Viktor flinch. “We are all here telling you that you won’t.  _ Now get up here and get in me _ .”

Something hits the bed with a small thump, and Yuri glances over to see that Katsudon has fished out a bottle of lube from wherever they keep it, so he reaches over and grabs it, squirting some out onto his fingers and reaching immediately down behind his balls. 

“Here,” he tosses it carelessly at Viktor, wanting to laugh as Viktor’s eyes go wide as saucers, “slick yourself up.”

Yuri gets a finger in himself easily, nice and relaxed from his spectacular orgasm and his own natural flexibility, and immediately goes for two while Viktor smears sticky fingers down his own length. It’s enough, he decides, and pulls his hand free, wiping it on the duvet and reaching for Viktor.

“ _ Yuri, are you _ -”

“Viktor, if you ask me one more time if I’m sure, I’m going to shove an ice-skate up your nose, do you understand?” Yuri says it as sweetly as he can, then reaches down to pull Viktor by the dick to where he wants him, forcing Viktor to fall forward, his hands bracketing Yuri’s shoulders as he hovers over Yuri’s body on the bed. 

“Do it, Vitka,” Otabek tells him, his voice calm and certain, “give him what he wants.”

Viktor groans, dropping to his elbows and thrusting in, burying himself in Yuri’s body with one long push. It’s glorious, sharp and aching and absolutely transcendent. Yuri wraps his arms and legs around Viktor and pulls him down to meet him, pressing their chests together and rocking his hips, craving the burn of the stretch and the punched out moans that Viktor is making deep in his chest. 

“Come on, old man,” he whispers into Viktor’s ear, “show me what I’ve been missing out on all these years. 

Viktor laughs into his ear, then nips at it, planting a hand on the bed beside Yuri’s head and lifting up to gain some leverage. He smiles down at Yuri, that devastating heart-shaped smile that twists Yuri’s heart up inside him and makes it ache with happiness, and then he snaps his hips forward and Yuri see stars. He grabs for Viktor’s shoulders and hangs on, clutching at his sides with his knees, his t-shirt, which is somehow still on, riding up between them.

The burn is amazing, the ache of Viktor inside him matching the ache he’s felt through the last year of loving Viktor but not knowing how much, the sting of it a twin to the sting of knowing that he’s been the cause of ongoing pain to someone so beloved. Yuri leans into it, lets Viktor come up to his knees and get his hands under Yuri’s hips and lift, and then Yuri is shouting as Viktor pounds into him hard and fast and with the skill of someone whose body has been a tool for all of his memorable life. 

Yuri barely hears Yuuri groaning from beside them, barely registers Otabek’s voice as it says, “Yura, kiss him, he needs you,” but he obeys on instinct, wrapping a hand around Viktor’s neck and lifting his own head until they meet in the middle, mouths open and moving, more a breathing helplessly into each other’s mouths than a proper kiss, but Yuri doesn’t care,  _ can’t _ care, not with Viktor stuttering to a stop deep inside him with a fierce groan, breaking away from their kiss to bury his face in Yuri’s throat as he twitches through the end of it. 

Yuri clutches Viktor to him as he rides out the end of his own crest against Viktor’s hard abs, wanting to pull Viktor so deep against him that he sinks in for good, wanting to hide him from a world that doesn’t know him, doesn’t appreciate him, doesn’t love him like they should. 

He feels like he’s flying as Viktor drops to the bed on top of him, and fumbles until he finds Viktor’s hands, linking their fingers and pressing kiss after kiss to Viktor’s face, his temple, his hair as their breathing slows and their bodies relax against each other.

“ _ Please _ ,” Viktor says, reaching out toward the chair that holds their mates, their beloveds, and he’s still caught in Russian, but the sentiment is clear. 

“Da,” Yuuri says, and stands creakily, pulling Otabek up behind him. He strips off his clothes matter-of-factly and climbs onto the bed on the far side of them, cuddling up and pressing his body under Viktor’s searching arm.

“Beka,” Yuri whispers, and Otabek reaches out to stroke his face, his touch as dear and familiar as ever. 

“Okay, Yura,” he answers, and pulls his shirt off before lying down on the side of the bed nearest him. He arranges himself carefully, curling up against Yuri’s arm and entwining their fingers. Yuri can feel Viktor stiffen above him, but before he can move to pull out or roll off, Otabek leans in and presses a chaste kiss to his cheek. “You did well, Vitka,” he says, and Yuri feels Viktor relax against him all at once, clear relief obvious in his now-relaxed weight. 

“I love you,” Viktor murmurs into Yuri’s chest, but Yuri thinks it’s for all of them, so he just hums back as Viktor shifts on top of him. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“We love you too, old man,” Yuri tells him, then pauses, serious. “Vitka. I’m sorry.”

“No more  _ I’m sorry’ _ s,” Yuuri grumbles from beside him. “We look forward, not backward.”

Otabek hums in agreement next to them, and Yuri turns his face to accept the kiss he offers. 

“We look forward together,” Otabek says, his voice final, and the silence that falls after is the most peaceful Yuri has ever known.


End file.
